Jack O'Neill swiped his card through the reader in irritation -- it was the second time he had done so -- and looked up at the elevator display. Still at level 7. What the hell was going on up there? "For crying out loud," he muttered, swiping his card again. At last the number above his head changed to 8 and kept moving. A few seconds later the elevator doors rumbled open. "About damn ti--" he began. Suddenly all aggravation fled him.
"Colonel," he said with surprise.
Samantha Carter smiled. "General."
She was back! Following her promotion to lieutenant colonel, Carter had taken some long accumulated leave and had been gone for over a week. More than once Jack had wandered by her lab, forgetting that she wasn't there, and had felt a pang of emptiness on being reminded. He took in the sight of her in her civvies -- leather jacket, blue sweater, low cut jeans revealing...whoa! He felt a jolt of energy rocket through him.
She was saying, "Sorry you had to wait, sir. Siler was unloading some equipment."
He cleared his throat. "Not a problem." He shrugged one shoulder but didn't move. His mouth uncontrollably turned upward in a small grin.
As the elevator door began to close, Carter slammed her hand against it. She eyed her CO curiously. "Did you want to get on, sir?"
"Right. Just, you know. Thinking." He stepped into the elevator and Sam let go of the door. He reached in front of her to punch in the number of his floor.
"About?"
"Oh. About..." He breathed in deeply and let it out. "Nice leave?" he asked, quickly deflecting the subject.
"Very nice."
Jack couldn't help but notice that she had returned tanned, even a little sunburned on the tip of her nose. Her hair flashed with sunbleached highlights. She looked relaxed and happy. Jack realized he was staring, and withdrew his gaze to the numbers flashing slowly by. "A bit of sun?"
"Yes, sir. A bit." He turned back to her, raising his eyebrows. She read the question in his look and answered it. "Hawaii." "Ah. Hawaii. Mm." Eyes back to the front of the elevator, he sternly quashed the images that threatened to arise of Carter on a tropical beach. In a bikini. But other images clamored behind those, ones that made his stomach tighten. The words were out of his mouth before he could censor them. "With Pete?"
She looked down at the floor. "Yeah."
Jack glanced sideways and saw a rosy color rise in her cheeks. He felt the elevator walls begin to close in on him. Why in God's name were they always dealing with this in an elevator? Swallowing a sour taste in his mouth, he nodded. "That's good." He could lie with the best of them.
They both stared straight ahead, as though the elevator doors were the most fascinating things in the world. Sam crossed her arms over her chest. Jack tapped his fingers against his thigh. The numbers on the display increased one by one.
"It agrees with you," he said.
Sam looked up at him. "Sir?"
He glanced over at her. "Vacation. It agrees with you. You look..." Beautiful. Radiant. Stunning. Mind-numbingly... "Rested," he said.
She graced him with a smile, which he returned. Her smile held no small amount of relief -- relief that they had gotten over another Pete hump. "Thanks. It felt good to get away."
O'Neill cocked his head and widened his eyes in mock disbelief. "You didn't miss your doohickeys?"
"Oh, missed them terribly, sir. But we all have to sacrifice once in awhile."
"That we do, Colonel. I salute you for your sacrifice." She gave him a supernova smile, and his insides did that jiggly thing they always did when she smiled at him like that.
"How have things been around here?" Carter asked.
"Rather quiet, actually, without SG-1 to cause trouble." That elicited another grin from her, which was his intention. "And Dr. Weir is all a-flutter about some planet SG-12 came back from. She senses treaty possibilities. And you know how she is about treaties."
"Right. Like Daniel with artifacts."
"Yup."
The elevator stopped. Carter stepped out. "I'll see you later, sir."
"Yes." The doors began to close. Jack craned toward the shrinking opening. "See you." The doors closed. "Colonel," he murmured to the now empty compartment.
As the car descended, he blew out a breath and raked his fingers through his close-cropped hair. A week in Hawaii. With Pete.
His eyes closed and he sighed. Another nail in the coffin.
~~~~~~
Jack put the finishing touches on his doodle of a palm tree.
Hawaii. Crap.
Surveying the mess before him on the briefing room table -- reports, reports, and more reports -- he rubbed his eyes tiredly. Either he had been at this for too long, or his age was showing and he really did need reading glasses. He was dimly aware that across the table Dr. Elizabeth Weir, his co-commander of the SGC, was watching him. Had been for some time, in fact, though he couldn't fathom why. From the corner of his eye he could see that she was gnawing on a pen, her brows drawn together in concentration as she studied him.
"Bad for the teeth," he muttered as he shaded in the palm leaves.
Weir jumped as though caught with her hand in the cookie jar. "Huh?"
He still didn't look up. "Chewing pens. Teeth. Bad."
"Oh. Right." Removing the object from her mouth, she tossed it onto the papers scattered before her. "How do you do that?"
He looked up at her. "Do what?"
"Manage to be preternaturally aware of everything around you even when you're not looking."
He regarded her for a moment in silence. "Preternaturally?"
She chuffed lightly. Then she gestured to the mess on the table. "Have we made any headway at all?"
"Oh, I think the Advil planet has potential."
"Excuse me?"
"You know, the one with all that abandoned Gou'ald stuff and naquedah deposits."
"Oh, you mean Ad'biril." Weir smiled as if at a secret joke.
"Whatever. The natives seem friendly enough, albeit a bit contentious with one another."
She regarded him in amusement. "Albeit?" she echoed his teasing, and he shrugged dismissively. She became efficiently professional again. "Yes, I agree." She picked up one of the reports. "I think we should also proceed with negotiations with the Kiramos. Do you agree, General?"
"Are those the people with the things in their noses, that Carter and Daniel scared up on P6X whatever?"
"Right, P6X 487."
"That high mucky-muck guy smells fishy. He's got no sense of humor. I never trust that."
"Then we'll proceed cautiously." Weir waved her hand over the table. "As for the rest of these, I don't think I could digest one more report tonight. What do you say we break till tomorrow?"
"Sounds fine by me, Doctor." O'Neill rocked back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head and letting out a long- suffering sigh.
"This really isn't your thing, is it, General?" Weir observed.
"This diplomatic stuff? Nope. One of the down sides of the job."
"You're not bad at it, you know. Sifting, evaluating, and reaching conclusions quickly."
Jack shrugged. "It's like assessing your options on the battlefield. Only a lot more reading."
"Miss the battlefield?"
He shrugged. "Not the battles per se." He grimaced, remembering Carter after Anubis's drone had run her to ground. And Frasier... His throat tightened momentarily, and he swiveled to face the stargate through the briefing room window. "But being out there." Jack paused, and in a quieter voice, "With them."
Now Carter, Daniel, and Teal'c went through the gate without him. They were out there right now, had 'gated out yesterday, the day after Carter's return from vacation. She was out there on some damn planet without him watching her six. His hands clenched on the armrests.
Presently he became aware of Weir's eyes on him, and he reluctantly abandoned his musings. He turned to meet her gaze across the table. She was staring at him intently, that brilliant mind churning over some problem, he guessed.
Suddenly she spoke. "Jack, would you like to have dinner with me?"
He blinked. Jack? "Changed your mind, have you?"
"What do you mean?"
"About breaking for the night?" He sighed. "If you really want to keep going, we can grab something at the commissary."
She was staring at him in confusion, then her face cleared and she chuckled. "Oh, sorry. I meant, do you want to have dinner with me, as in an actual restaurant? Say, tomorrow night?"
Jack rocked forward and dropped his feet to the floor with a thump. Where the hell had this come from? "Out? Dinner?" He gestured between them. "You? Me?"
"Yes. Me. You. Dinner. Out."
Damn. Old General Jack had just been asked out by an attractive young woman. He hadn't been on a date since...hell, since before Sarah. That would be...do the math, Jack. Oh, man. He was SO too old for this. He repeated inanely, "As in, 'going out'?"
"Yes, that's what I meant." A flush began to climb up Elizabeth's pale throat.
O'Neill suddenly saw Elizabeth Weir as if for the first time. Since he'd been promoted and put in charge of the military side of the SGC, with Weir as the civilian commander, he'd been so busy adjusting to his new duties that he hadn't really noticed her. Physically, that is. He had quickly come to respect her knowledge and admire her quick intelligence. Plus anyone who could stand up to Kinsey had his vote. But he hadn't really paid attention to the package.
Now he studied the woman on the other side of the table. Blonde hair, blue eyes, nice figure, attractive face (hm, he sensed a pattern here). Nonplussed, he grappled for words but succeeded only in clearing his throat.
"Look," Weir began, "it's all right if you don't--."
"No, no, it's fine. I just -- I was just surprised, is all. Not expecting it, you know."
She smiled ruefully. "Is there someone else?"
Someone else? The image of Carter rose in his mind. Along with it he remembered something from his foreign language studies: the conditional tense. Or was it subjunctive? He couldn't be sure because he was never very good at foreign languages. Whatever, he had always liked to think of Carter as his future conditional -- conditional on them both being free when he got around to retiring. He'd never had any doubt that he would meet that condition; he couldn't imagine himself getting involved with anyone else. Carter, on the other hand, had always been more problematic. She seemed to attract admirers like ants to a picnic.
He glanced down at the palm tree on his notepad. And now this thing with Pete. It didn't appear to be the fly-by-night affair Jack had been rooting for. Vacations in Hawaii with one's boyfriend generally augured serious times ahead.
Carter's future was likely to be with someone other than him.
He fought against the heaviness in his chest and raised his eyes again to Weir. She looked hopeful, with a sprinkling of apprehension. Hell, he thought, if the future was over between him and Carter, why not enjoy the present with someone else? It was just dinner, after all.
"No," he said, "there's no one else."
She chewed her lip. "Well, then?"
Jack said quietly, "I'd be happy to have dinner with you."
Weir let out a breath. Then she was all crispness again. "Good. Shall I pick you up around eight tomorrow?"
"Whoa!" Jack held up his hand. "Kinda old fashioned here. I've already missed the asking-you-out part. How about if I pick you up?"
She laughed. She had a nice laugh, he decided. "That would be fine."
"Well, then." Jack stood. "I guess I'll..." He jerked his head toward the stairs. "Y'know." He began to edge sideways out of the room. "Home."
He descended the stairs hurriedly, feeling sweat trickling down his sides.
~~~~~~
Promptly at eight o'clock the next night, Jack stood before Weir's door. He lifted his hand toward the doorbell, then dropped it again. Just dinner, he reminded himself. No big deal. He picked a piece of lint off his black sports coat, swallowed, and pushed the doorbell. He heard footsteps, and the door swung open.
"Hi!" Weir said, then froze, her mouth partly open, her eyes dropping down his length and back up to his face. Jack wondered if he had broccoli growing out of his head, and rubbed a hand over his hair just in case. But she recovered her aplomb quickly, and when she complimented him on looking "very nice," it occurred to him she had never seen him in civvies before. He checked himself out in his side-view mirror before he climbed into his truck: old-man gray hair, blue shirt, black jacket, jeans -- unremarkable in his view, but who could understand women?
She didn't look half bad herself -- a dark purple blouse, black skirt (not too short but short enough), and a silk jacket embroidered with flowers or leaves or something. "You look nicer," he told her with a grin, and drove east toward downtown.
He took her to Phantom Canyon, a microbrew pub renowned for excellent food in a casual atmosphere. Since it lacked the candlelight and hushed tones of fancier restaurants, Jack hoped that he could hide, if necessary, behind the din echoing beneath the vaulted ceilings. Plus it had an excellent selection of beers.
As it turned out, hiding wasn't necessary. Weir proved to be an engaging dinner companion, her wit sharpened by a moderate amount of alcohol and her intelligence undiminished. Jack was relieved that the conversation had not strayed into the personal realm but had confined itself comfortably to current events, sports, and work-related stories. Weir, to his surprise, was a gifted storyteller, making him laugh with her tales of negotiation snafus and screw-ups. And he was pleased to see that she didn't have any weird food trips. She polished off a bacon-wrapped pork tenderloin with butternut squash and agreed to splitting a dessert.
Jack was recounting a tale of his own while they awaited their cake. "In the end I had to shoot him," Jack was saying, but stopped suddenly at the warning expression on Weir's face. The waitress having come up behind him, she set an extremely large piece of strawberry chocolate mousse cake between them.
Weir reached out her fork and took a bite, then closed her eyes in bliss. "Oh, my God."
He chuckled. "What did I tell you?"
Looking around to make sure no one could overhear, Elizabeth lowered her voice. "Anyway, you shot him!? You didn't...?"
"No, I didn't kill Maybourne, as appealing as the idea was."
"Well, that's a relief. So how did you finally get home?"
"Oh, Carter figured out we were on the planet's moon. I knew she'd find us."
Jack insisted Weir have the last bite of cake, then he drained the remainder of his Railyard Ale. They tussled briefly over the bill, until she reminded him that in this country the civilian authorities had precedence over the military. "And besides," she added, "I invited you."
"All right, Doctor," he conceded, "but a rain check for the next time."
She raised her eyes to him as she tucked the signed credit card slip into the folder. "Please -- call me Elizabeth. And there's a next time?"
"Oh, you betcha." He had had a good time. Why not do it again?
At her townhouse complex he pulled into the guest parking space near her unit and hopped out. Weir was already climbing down from the cab when he came around to her side.
"You don't have to escort me, you know," she said.
"Oh, but I do." They walked up the short path to her door. "You live in a dangerous part of town. Raccoons, deer..."
"Socialites, lawyers..."
"See, menaces all around. As bad as the Gou'ald."
She chuckled, and when they reached her doorstep she said, "I had a delightful evening, Jack."
"So did I." The fact surprised him. "It was nice to be able to talk about...things I usually can't talk about with...someone who hasn't done the same things."
"Right. You won't have to kill me."
"Yes. That would be such a shame." Jack smiled down at her. She was shorter than Carter. The porch light illuminated her hair but left her eyes under their brows in shadows. She was a colleague, he reminded himself. This was a professional, albeit friendly, evening. "Well, I guess this is where we say good night."
"Yes, I guess it is." But she didn't move.
Another part of Jack's brain argued that, technically, this was a date. The conviviality, the warm buzz from the alcohol, and a lovely woman with her face upturned before him all confirmed it.
And he knew what one did after a date.
He leaned down and touched his lips gently to hers. It was a tender, undemanding kiss, meant only to punctuate his "good night," so he was surprised to feel her hand come up to his neck and pull him to her, deepening the pressure. A surge of blood pumped quickly into his veins. Her mouth opened, his opened, and...
Suddenly he broke off and pulled back, somewhat breathless. 'Just dinner' had suddenly taken a sharp turn in another direction. "Um..."
Elizabeth looked a little flushed. Her eyes shone with a hunger for him that he found flattering. "Would you like to come in?" she said.
The way Jack's body was humming, he was pretty certain that if he went in he wouldn't come out. That was moving things along a little too fast, he thought. And besides, he wasn't sure if it was appropriate for them to...
"Thanks," he said, "but I don't think I should." He made the motion of glancing at his watch. "Got an early start tomorrow. SG-13 ships out at oh-seven-hundred."
Weir nodded. He wasn't sure if she was disappointed or relieved. She found her keys and unlocked the door. "Good night, Jack."
"Good night...Elizabeth."
Returning to his truck, he sat and stared blankly through the windshield, licking his lips, tasting her lipstick. It had been a long time since he'd kissed a woman. Laira? No. Anise, Freya, whoever. He could never keep them straight.
He blinked. No, the last woman he'd kissed was Carter. In that damn time loop. He smiled. That had been some kiss.
Then he blew out a breath. In any case, it had been too damn long. He'd practically become a monk in these last years. Maybe he should stop worrying about the supposed inappropriateness of this. Too many years of his libido being held hostage to the frat regs had made him over-cautious. Maybe it was time to bust out and do what he'd told Carter to do. What she had finally done.
Get a life.
Jack turned the key in the ignition and gunned the engine. Carter was probably having her life right now, right this very minute. He wondered if she was getting ready to go to bed with Pete, or was already in bed. He wondered if she was having sex.
His gut churned, and he brutally quashed the images that flashed in his mind.
He jammed the truck into reverse.
Yes, he decided, he'd do that. He would get a life.
Part 2
"So it's essentially a Bronze Age culture, with a warlike social organization. The leaders of Egemeon..."
Jack doodled idly on his pad as Daniel droned on with his debriefing. SG-1 had just returned from a mission, which for once turned out to be a routine meet and greet. There had been no hidden Jaffa or Gou'alds, no injuries. Jack could relax.
Suddenly he realized that Daniel's lecture had ceased and silence had fallen over the group. He raised his head to meet the faces of his former teammates. Daniel's eyebrows were lifted over his glasses questioningly. Next to him Carter also waited expectantly. On the opposite side of the table Teal'c sat in Buddha-like stillness.
"Well?" Daniel said.
"Well what?"
"Jack, have you even been listening?"
"Yes, Daniel, I have. You think that despite their obvious backwardness the -- the Whatchamacallits would be good allies and you're recommending further negotiations."
The younger man blinked. "Um, yes."
O'Neill glanced at Carter who was trying to suppress a grin at Daniel's discomfiture. "Do you agree, Colonel?"
"I do, sir."
"Teal'c?"
"Indeed."
"Okay, good. We're done here." He slapped his hands on the table. "I'll run it by Elizabeth, but I'm sure she'll go along with the plan."
Three heads swiveled at once in his direction. Daniel's mouth dropped open, while Carter's forehead furrowed in perplexity. Even the big guy was regarding O'Neill with a raised eyebrow.
"What?" Jack demanded. "Did I just say 'fron' or something?"
"Noooo," Daniel said.
"Well, what, then?"
"Erm, you said 'Elizabeth.'"
Crap. He had? "So? That's her name, isn't it?"
"Um, yes, but..."
Crap, crap, crap. Maybe dating his co-commander wasn't the brightest idea on the shelf. "But what?" His tone had turned defensive.
Daniel opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. Jack could almost see that brain of his whirring behind his glasses, connecting A to B. "But nothing," Daniel replied after a moment. "Nothing at all. I, um, I should, um..." With a flurry of gestures and paper gathering, he left. Teal'c nodded at O'Neill, then followed the archeologist out. Carter let her eyes rest curiously on her commanding officer for a moment, and then she too rose.
Jack wondered what she was thinking. Did it bother her, what his slip of the tongue implied? If he got a life with her civilian commander, would she feel anything?
"Carter?" he said softly.
She turned back to him, resting her hand on her chair. "Sir?" Her face wore a neutral expression.
No, he guessed it wouldn't bother her. He waved his hand. "Nothing."
"You sure?"
He pushed back his chair and got up. "Yeah, it was nothing."
As she left, he watched the pleasing contours of her six. Then he grunted and returned to his office.
An hour later, after seeing another SG team off on a mission, he faced the stack of memos that had piled up when he wasn't looking. He had never realized the truckloads of paperwork that Hammond dealt with daily, and invisibly. Growling, he grabbed a report from the top of the stack, glanced at it, scrawled his signature at the bottom, and tossed it in the out-box. Grab, glance, sign; grab, glance, sign...
He longed to get out of the mountain for a few days. Drop a line in the water. Drink a cold beer. Think about catching fish. He could invite Carter and she could turn him down...
No, he reminded himself with bitterness. Now that she was seeing someone, he wasn't even allowed to ask her.
Scowling, he returned his focus to his paperwork.
Halfway through the pile he became aware of movement in the briefing room on the other side of the star chart window. Weir was walking back and forth, gesturing and talking...to herself. No, he corrected himself, she was talking into that damn earphone that made her look like a crazy lady. He paused in his signing and watched her, amused. Then he remembered something. He had promised her another time. He had completely forgotten. Dinner again? No, he thought, something more innocuous.
"Now where did I put that?" He began to rummage in his desk drawers. Not there. Then he dug his wallet out of his back pocket and withdrew a slip of paper. Picking up the phone he dialed the number on the paper. He watched Elizabeth, her back turned to him, as she put a hand to her ear. He heard a click on his line, then her voice.
"Hello?"
"Hi, it's Jack. Got a minute?"
She spun around. He waved at her and heard her laughter through his receiver. "Hang on a sec," she said. "Let me finish this." He heard a click, then watched as she spoke soundlessly to her other caller. Then another soft click, and her voice again. "Thanks for rescuing me."
"From?"
"From the undersecretary of Defense. I've been trying to end the conversation for the last ten minutes."
"Glad I could be of service. Say, I need to get a break from this place sometime and was wondering if you were free on..." He quickly flipped through his mind's calendar. "Saturday? Say for a hike? Fresh air, spacious skies, purple mountains majesty?"
Her face brightened. "The fruited plain?"
"That, too."
"Sounds great."
"I'll bring some deli sandwiches and pick you up ten-ish. Just wear good walking shoes."
"It's a deal."
They disconnected and, with a wave, Weir exited the briefing room. Jack rocked back in his chair. It wasn't fishing with Carter, but it would have to do.
~~~~~~
"I feel like I can see Kansas," Elizabeth said.
Jack swallowed a bite of his turkey sandwich. "Actually, you can only see..." He wrinkled his brow uncertainly. "Well, Carter would know how far you can see. Curvature of the earth, angles, all that."
They were eating their lunch on a flat expanse of rock overlooking Colorado Springs far below them. Jack had chosen Mt. Cutler Trail, which ascended North Cheyenne Canyon on the western slopes of town, for its relatively unstrenuous climb and scenic view. Beyond the city to the eastern horizon stretched the plains ("See, fruited plain," Jack had pointed out), and Cheyenne Mountain loomed to their right. But the cement bunkers and the pressures of work seemed far distant under the afternoon's cloudless and dark blue sky.
The mountain quiet was broken only by the soughing of the pine trees in the breeze. Jack breathed in their scent. Damn, it was good to get out. And a pleasant change to have company. Usually he hiked alone, but as he felt the warmth of Elizabeth's arm brushing his, he was reconsidering the benefits of solitude.
Weir set her sandwich on its wrapper and wiped her mouth with a napkin. "The air here is incredible, so clear." Then she sighed. "But dry. My skin feels like a lizard's."
Jack squinted at her through his sunglasses. Her skin was flawless, like Carter's. Must be something about blondes. He reached up and stroked her cheek gently. "Doesn't look like a lizard's." Elizabeth reacted with a sharp intake of breath, and Jack suddenly felt awkward. Removing his hand, he adjusted the bill of his hat. "I think women do moisturizing things. You might ask Carter. I'll bet she'd know."
"I'll do that."
She looked away, toward Cheyenne Mountain. Jack finished his sandwich and drew his knees up, resting his arms on them. The seconds stretched out. After a few minutes the silence began to feel uncomfortable, and Jack cast a glance to his companion. She was worrying her lower lip. He wondered if his touch had bothered her. No, he thought, that didn't make sense. He knew she was attracted to him. He was experienced enough to read the signals.
"You okay?" he ventured.
Turning to him she said, "I'm fine. Just... thinking."
Her fingers began to play with the hairs on his arm, causing a stirring inside him. "About what?" he asked.
"About the potential inappropriateness of our being together like this."
He took off his hat and scrubbed his hair. "Yeah. I thought of that, too." He recalled how awkward he'd felt at the briefing with SG-1. He and Weir were under scrutiny by everyone, from the president and joint chiefs, to the SGC teams, and all the way down to the servers in the commissary. It wasn't great P.R. for the two CEOs of an organization to be seeing each other.
He replaced his hat. "So what do you want to do?"
"I don't think the problem is insurmountable." She stuffed the remains of her sandwich into a paper sack. "We could be discreet. No one would have to know."
Jack shook his head. "It's hard to keep a secret around the SGC."
"You've kept the biggest secret in the history of the world for over seven years. I'd say if anyone could do it, you could."
"Well, there's that." He glanced at the mountain on their right. Keeping a secret from the world was one thing, he thought. Keeping a secret from the gossip mill that was the SGC was something else. But if he was going to get a life, he was unlikely to find it outside the SGC. He had no one to fix him up with someone like Carter had had. And he was determined to get a life.
He cleared his throat. "Okay, then. Discreet. I guess we can do that." He would take his chances, he decided.
Taking her hand, he absently rubbed one of her rings. She had a fondness for jewelry, unlike Carter. Or, he supposed, it was just that Carter, being military, couldn't indulge herself that way on the job. Elizabeth's face was turned toward him, and was close. He could feel her breath brushing his cheek. The warm buzz that he'd felt the other night began its mischief in his veins again. Putting his arm around her shoulders, he drew her to him. He kissed her tentatively at first. Tasting mustard, he smiled against her mouth. Then her mouth opened, and he began to delve--
His cell phone rang.
"Crap!" He sat up and yanked the phone out of his pocket. "What?" he snapped.
"Jack, they said you were off base but I think I found a clue about the location of Atlantis." Daniel paused. "I didn't interrupt anything, did I?"
"No, just my first break in three weeks."
"Sorry about that." He didn't sound sorry. "Anyway, I've been getting closer and closer to the address of the Lost City, and it turns out it's an incomplete address. It's actually an eight- symbol address. And--"
"That's nice, Daniel. But can it wait for one hour?"
"I guess so, but I think we should check this out because--"
"Good-bye, Daniel."
"Jack, wait!"
"What!?"
"Siler was looking for you. Something about not being able to go to the Av's game Friday night. Relatives visiting or something. He's taking leave through the weekend and wanted you to know before he left."
Damn. The games weren't as fun alone. Maybe Teal'c would want to go... Jack looked at Elizabeth. She looked back questioningly. "Thanks," he said into the phone. "I'm saying good-bye now, Daniel."
"Good--"
Jack cut his reply off and stuffed the phone back in his pocket as a man, a woman, and a squealing baby in a backpack appeared behind them, settling onto a nearby log to eat their lunch.
Elizabeth looked at them and sighed. Jack began to pack up their lunch wrappers. "So," he said, "whatcha doing this Friday night?"
~~~~~~
"I can see why hockey is your favorite sport," Elizabeth said as Jack wove through the darkened streets of her neighborhood.
"Why?"
"Because it's like a battlefield."
He chuckled, and turned into the drive of her townhouse complex. "You didn't seem to mind it too much. My ear is still hurting from your yelling." He wiggled his finger in the organ exaggeratedly.
"Well, I enjoyed it. It was exciting. I had a good time, Jack."
"Good." Jack parked and killed the engine, and they lapsed into silence. He felt a tension coiling inside him, and exhaled softly to try to dispel it. He thought he heard his companion do the same.
"Would you like to come in?" she asked.
He turned and saw the expectation on her face, the desire darkening her eyes. He supposed his own reflected a similar look. "Yes."
At her door Weir fumbled in her purse for her keys while Jack, restless, rocked back and forth on his feet. Hockey games always left him wound up, and the anticipation of what was to come next had him buzzing even more. Apparently Weir was similarly affected, because her hand was trembling and she was having trouble finding the right key. Finally she opened the door and gestured him in.
Jack stepped into a dim entryway. A lamp left on in the living room was the only light. He waited while Weir locked the door and placed her purse on a side table. Then she took hold of his hand and led him to the couch. He sat.
"Would you like a brandy?" she asked as she crossed into the kitchen area.
"Sure." While glasses clinked in the kitchen he examined his surroundings. The room was simply and almost spartanly furnished, indicative of a person who never stayed in one place long. Artifacts that looked Asian and African, presumably collected from their owner's travels, decorated tabletops. The furniture looked new; rented, most likely.
"Nice place," he said as she returned with two brandy snifters. Handing one to him, she took a seat close to him on the sofa. Very close, her knee brushing his.
"Best I could do in a hurry," Elizabeth said. "Cheers."
"Skol."
They clinked glasses. Giving the amber liquid a swirl, Jack took a sip and felt the alcohol slide hotly down his throat, warming his already too-warm body. Elizabeth sipped her drink, then put her glass down on a coaster and sat back, watching him. He knew she was waiting, letting him make the first move. Instead he said, "I've been alone a long time."
Crap. Why had he said that? The tension rippled and began to fade. The hunger on her face wavered, to be replaced by uncertainty. "Just thought you should know," he explained. "I may not be much good at this relationship stuff."
She seemed to relax a little. "That's all right. I'm not either. One of the side-effects of a globe-trotting career."
"Well, then. Okay. Glad we got that clear." He swallowed some air. His clothes felt tight. He put his glass down and cupped her cheek with his palm. Her breasts rose and fell, breathing hard. He kissed her, and felt her arms reach around his back, hands slipping under his jacket, sliding up and down his back. Heat spread through his body and all the way out to his fingers and toes.
They broke apart for air. Licking her lips, Elizabeth said, "You needn't have any worries about being good at *that*."
He gave her a small smile. "Like riding a bicycle." Then he sucked in a breath as her fingers reached up and stroked his hair. "Don't mind the gray?" he asked in a slightly hoarse voice.
"I love it," she whispered. She traced the vertical furrow above his nose, and the scar on his left eyebrow. "Where's this from?"
"Got it when we went back in time to 1969. Some flyboy didn't like my attitude. There are more of those in...other places."
"Battle scars," she breathed.
Fingers trailed down his cheek. "I've been wondering," he said, and the fingers stopped as she awaited his question. "Why would someone who doesn't like the military be attracted to an old soldier?"
She sighed. "You heard about me."
"I asked the president about you. I needed some background."
"It's true that I haven't always liked the military's way of solving problems. But you -- you've overturned my prejudices." She stroked his cheek. "You, Jack O'Neill, aren't like any military man I've ever met. I did some background checking on you, too."
"Oh?"
"I read all your mission reports."
"How am I doing with the bullet points, by the way? Been trying to work on that."
She shook her head, exasperated. "Jack, what you've endured, your sacrifices..."
He grimaced, and pulled her hand down from his face.
"What?" she said.
"I was just doing my job." He hated any hint of hero worship.
"Well, you did it superbly."
She resumed her exploration with her fingertips, and Jack forgot his diffidence as she drew the contours of his lips with a fingernail. He suppressed a shudder, and strained at the increasing tightness of his clothes. Finally, impatient, he took her hand and pressed his lips into her palm. Then he turned his attention to her mouth. This kiss was rough and hungry. It had been far too long, a part of his mind dimly noted. The next moment his mind shut down and sensation took over -- her soft breasts pressing against his shirt, her tongue moving inside his mouth, the exquisite pressure of her abdomen against his groin.
Then a blur of movement, her hand pulling him up, down a hallway to a dimly lit room, clothing being removed, a soft bed. His eyes drifted closed for a moment, and he gave himself up to the feel, taste, and smell of warm, pliant flesh under his hands and mouth.
Opening his eyes he caught a glimpse of blonde hair, sending his imagination into overdrive. He could almost believe it was *her*, and desire engulfed him.
Part 3
Jack awoke the next morning next to Elizabeth Weir.
Not that he was expecting it to be anyone else.
Gray light filtered through the blinds, and a garbage truck rumbled in the distance as its machinery crushed trash into a pulp. Elizabeth was curled next to his side, asleep. Jack lay on his back in the unfamiliar bed staring at the unfamiliar ceiling. He had slept the sleep of the dead -- unusual for him -- and his body felt languid and sated after the night's activities. But his mind was already galloping through the day's agenda. He raised his head to see the clock on the other side of the bed, then flopped back down with a sigh. He hated sneaking out, but he had little choice.
As he was pondering his strategy Elizabeth stirred, probably disturbed by his movements. She opened one eye, the other buried in pillow. "Morning," she murmured.
"Morning. Uh, I hate to say this, but..."
"You have to go."
He nodded. "SG-5 is due back early."
"I know. I remember."
Her hand snaked out from under the covers and caressed his stubbly cheek. He turned into her touch, and leaning over, kissed her softly on the lips. Then he sat up on the side of the bed, scrubbing his hair roughly. He didn't feel right about rushing off like this. He supposed he should have planned this better, with a free morning after the night before.
He felt a hand on his back.
"Jack?" Her voice sounded unnaturally small. He turned around. "Will we do this again?" Elizabeth asked.
He stroked her hair. "I don't do one night stands," he reassured her.
She smiled sleepily. "Good." Her eyes drifted shut.
He dressed quickly, frowning at the blank feeling inside him. Shouldn't he be happy or something? He wasn't unhappy, though. Just kind of limbo-ish. This relationship business probably just took getting used to.
He bent down and kissed her hair. "See you later," he whispered.
~~~~~~
Later came just before lunch, when Jack was on his way to the mess hall. Rounding a corner he ran smack into Elizabeth, who let out a breathless "Oof!"
"Sorry," he said, gripping her arm. Then he quickly released her, conscious of their very public position. Softly he said, "Hey."
"Hey, yourself," she said just as softly and giving him a smile.
He found himself grinning back. "I was on my way to lunch. Care to join me?"
"I just came from there." She glanced at her watch. "I'm late for a meeting. I got to talking with Colonel Carter and completely lost track of time." She began to back away down the hall. "Gotta go!" Her lips made a quick and almost imperceptible kiss, then she turned and scurried to the elevator.
"Ciao!" Jack said to her retreating back, and stood for a moment, hands in his pockets. Smiling to himself, he strolled into the mess. He had felt some of his spirit return when he'd stepped out of Elizabeth's house into the crisp Colorado morning. He decided his apathy on awakening was merely a function of his reaction to change. Embarking on a new enterprise was never easy. He was just feeling that fish out of water feeling, which would go away as soon as he adjusted to the new arrangements.
He gathered his lunch onto a tray and, whistling tunelessly, scanned the room. Spying a shock of fair hair, he zigzagged through the tables. "Hey, Carter!" he said jauntily.
Sam reacted almost violently. Clearly she had been absorbed in thought. "Hello, sir." Her smile didn't quite reach her eyes.
He settled himself across from her and began to attack his lasagna. Sex did amazing things to the appetite, he thought as he shoveled food into his mouth. "Mmm, this is good stuff. Did you have any?" Only then did he notice that her food lay mostly untouched on her plate. Even her jello. "Not hungry today?"
"I guess my eyes were bigger than my stomach."
Her voice held a flatness that made Jack glance up at her. But she was smiling, and he resumed wolfing down his lunch. "Been shooting the breeze with Dr. Weir, I hear," he said.
She didn't reply for a moment. Then she said, "You were whistling."
Jack paused, his fork halfway to his mouth. "I was? When?"
"Just now, when you came over to my table."
He was? He set his fork down on his plate. "Um, well, maybe I was." He blew out a breath and picked up his coffee cup, peered into it, and sniffed. He glanced at the SFs at the table next to them. He didn't want to look at Carter.
She went on, "Dr. Weir was telling me how well she was settling in. She said she got to see a hockey game for the first time last night."
Jack sighed. So much for keeping secrets. Elizabeth could not have known what such an innocent admission would reveal to someone as astute as Carter.
Reluctantly he met her eyes. Her face was composed, but there was a tightness around her mouth that suggested a great effort at control. He was surprised. He had convinced himself that his involvement with Weir wouldn't bother her. Evidently he was wrong.
He remembered how her humming one morning many months ago had led to a sucker-punch revelation. The thought that he might be causing her similar pain caused tendrils of guilt to wrap themselves around his heart. "Yeah," he said. "She, uh, she came with me."
"That's nice."
They sat and looked at their trays. The silence spun out uncomfortably. Damn, Jack thought, why was this so hard? It wasn't like there was anything between him and Carter anymore. Was there?
"Carter."
"Sir?"
"Dr. Weir and I--"
"Sir, you don't have to explain. It's none of my business." She glanced up at him, then back down at her plate.
"It's nothing serious. Really." He didn't know why he was offering such lame reassurance. He had slept with the woman, for crying out loud, and Carter knew it. The knowledge was reflected in her face like tiny cracks in a porcelain vase. "But I don't really want it to get around the base. If you know what I mean."
"I understand, sir. I won't breathe a word."
"Thanks." God, this was uncomfortable. Well, if they were going to do awkward, he might as well go for the gold. "How's Pete?"
Her tense smile wavered, and she tried to sound perky. "Fine. Just fine." But he thought he saw a glimmer of pain flash in her eyes for just a second. Maybe things weren't going so well at Chez Carter after all. He frowned at the thought. That bastard better not hurt her...
The scraping of her chair interrupted his thought. "I better go," Carter said, picking up her tray. "I'm running some, uh, simulations and have to get back."
"Simulate away," he said without mirth. He felt a tightness behind his sternum as he watched her go.
He began to pick at his half-eaten lasagna, then let the fork fall. He, too, had lost his appetite.
~~~~~~
He didn't see Elizabeth outside of work for the next three days, due to their hectic and mismatched schedules. On the third day they grabbed take-out for a late dinner at his house. As he was bringing plates into the dining room, Jack caught her studying the picture of him, Sara, and Charlie that hung on the wall in the living room, and braced himself for what he knew was coming.
"Why have you never mentioned your son?"
He set the plates on the table. "He died."
"I know," she said softly. "It's in your personnel file. I'm so sorry."
"It was a hard time."
She was looking at him, probably waiting for him to elaborate.
But he said, "I don't like to talk about it."
She nodded. "Okay," she said, and Jack bent to the cartons of Chinese food.
That night he lay awake listening to her soft breathing next to him. Sleep hadn't come as easily as it had the first time they'd slept together, when the relief of sex after so long denying himself had been like a narcotic. That had been at her house. He hadn't shared his bed and this home with a woman since...well, since never. He had bought the house after the divorce, and it had been his refuge and his alone. Sure, he'd spent many a night fantasizing sharing this bed with a certain someone, but tonight was the first time in over eight years that an actual living woman lay between his sheets.
And the sex, while a release, wasn't as good as he'd had with Sara. He knew what was missing -- that L word. Maybe it would come with time.
He clasped his hands behind his head and stared at the textured plaster of the ceiling. Elizabeth shifted in her sleep and let out a little sigh. Jack remembered the little snuffle/snort Carter sometimes made in her sleep when they were camped off world. He could almost set his watch by it; 0230, it usually was. A small smile turned up his lips.
His musings turned to his awkward conversation with her in the commissary, and the smile faded. He thought she'd put any feelings for him far behind, but her behavior that day suggested otherwise. The idea that she still thought of him in *that way* caused a tightness in his chest.
His companion murmured something unintelligible and turned over, pulling some of the covers with her and startling Jack out of his thoughts. Silently slipping out of bed, he pulled on a pair of shorts and padded into the kitchen, where he got a beer out of the refrigerator. Taking it into the living room, he flopped onto the sofa with a sigh.
~~~~~~
"Good morning, stranger."
Jack opened his eyes. Elizabeth was leaning over him. He saw that he had pulled an afghan over himself and was stretched out on the couch. He had intended to go back to bed, but apparently had not succeeded. Blinking against the sunlight streaming in through the window, he scooted into a sitting position, making space for Elizabeth to sit.
"Was it something I said?" she asked. Her words tried to make light of it, but the pinched look on her face told him she'd felt hurt at being abandoned.
"No. I couldn't sleep, so I tried the beer remedy. Works every time. Unfortunately, it works before you can get back to bed."
She smiled wryly. "I just didn't know..." Her voice trailed off.
Jack reached out and touched her hand. "It's not you, Elizabeth. I do this a lot. It's a middle-aged thing, the not sleeping. And I'm used to--"
"Being alone. I know." She smiled, her face relaxing, and he knew he had been forgiven.
"So," he said, noticing that she was dressed and carried her purse on her shoulder, "did I oversleep?"
"No, I have a seven o'clock flight. Going to Washington, remember?"
"Oh, right." She had told him last night, but it had slipped his mind.
She leaned over and kissed him deeply. "I'll miss you," she murmured against his lips.
"Likewise," he said.
~~~~~~
But he didn't. And if he hadn't been so busy, he might have felt guilty.
For while Elizabeth fulfilled a speaking engagement and reported to the president, Jack spent the time putting out fires. First SG-5 ran into hostiles on P3X-472, and the team's resident archaeologist returned with an arrow shaft in her thigh. Then SG- 1 brought back an artifact ("It's absolutely safe, sir," Carter had sworn), which upon being probed with her doohickeys emitted a high-pitched shriek that caused brutal headaches in all the base personnel.
When his headache finally subsided, Jack began to claw his way through the drifts of paper on his desk and unearthed two "while you were out" phone messages from Elizabeth. He cursed himself for not checking his messages. When was she coming back? he asked himself. She'd told him the night before she left but he couldn't dredge it up. Part of him felt a niggling doubt that forgetting such things so easily meant something. But he brushed it off and, picking up the phone, called her number. He got her voice mail message, and after a moment of wavering -- he hated the damn things -- hung up.
~~~~~~
Two days later Weir returned, just as Jack and SG-1 were adjourning from Daniel's presentation of his Atlantis information.
"Oh, excuse me," she said as she entered the briefing room.
"That's all right, Doctor," said Jack. "We were just finishing up. Daniel thinks he found the location of Atlantis."
"Well, that is exciting! Where?"
"Well," said Daniel, "if Sam's calculations are correct it should be in the Pegasus galaxy, a dwarf galaxy in a local group."
"Carter's calculations are always correct, Daniel," Jack interrupted him.
Carter gave him a small smile.
"I'm looking forward to being updated on the Atlantis information," Weir said. Then to Jack, "General, can I have a word with you?"
"Certainly." He gestured her into his office while SG-1 left the briefing room. As he followed Elizabeth he could see from the corner of his eye that Carter was watching them. Then she turned abruptly and hurried down the stairs.
He closed the door and seated himself at his desk. "Bring me any souvenirs?"
Weir chuckled. "No, but the president sends his regards."
"No tee-shirt? Rats."
She took a seat across from him, her expression sober. "I called you a couple of times."
The rest of her sentence hung unspoken: And you never returned my calls. Welcome to a relationship, Jack, he told himself. "It was crazy here," he explained. "When I tried to call you, I got that voice mail thing. Didn't feel like leaving a message."
She nodded, and let it pass. "When will you get off tonight?" she asked in a low voice, as though worried that his office was bugged.
He grinned slyly. "Missed me, huh?"
She huffed lightly. "Yes."
For an ace negotiator, she was poor at hiding her feelings from him. The naked desire and longing in her eyes made him feel twitchy. She had it bad for him, and he was surprised at the slight discomfort he felt. At the same time her desire for him made his body react. Biology was a tyrant sometimes, he thought.
"I could get out of here around nine," he said.
She stood, smoothing her skirt. "I'll be at home." And she left without a backward glance.
~~~~~~
Jack laid his napkin on the table. "That was delicious," he said with complete sincerity. In the month since her trip to Washington, Elizabeth had made dinner for him only once before, but tonight's Veal Marsala confirmed it: she was an excellent cook.
This getting a life thing was starting to feel pretty good, he thought. A few nights together a month, with the occasional home- cooked meal thrown in for good measure -- not bad for two busy CEOs. He enjoyed companionship, sex, and someone at the other end of the phone if he got sick and tired of listening to his own thoughts. And he still had most nights to himself in the privacy of his own home. Furthermore, he congratulated himself that they had succeeded in being discreet. He didn't think anyone knew about them except Carter, and Daniel who probably suspected.
"Thank you," Elizabeth replied, grinning at him happily. "I confess, though, that I have ulterior motives."
"Oh, and what would those be?"
"Well, you know the cliché about the way to a man's heart..."
Jack was still for a moment, then he cleared his throat. "Ah, clichés. So overdone." He began to clear the dishes from the table, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. He heard her sigh as she followed him into the kitchen.
He set the plates in the sink and turned to face her. "Say, aren't the Advils coming through the gate tomorrow to hash out that treaty?"
That got a laugh out of her. "The Ad'birils, Jack, the Ad'birils! And yes, they're coming tomorrow."
"Remind me to be busy when they arrive."
She took the plate he handed her and placed it in the dishwasher. "You know you have to sit in on this one. They won't defer to a non-warrior at the table -- and a female at that. They want *the general*."
She said it in an exaggeratedly pompous voice, and he snorted. "Well, the general they will have, then."
Forgotten was the topic of his heart -- which was precisely Jack's intention.
Much later that night he sat in the dark in the living room, a notepad resting on his thigh. He'd dug the pad of paper out of Elizabeth's kitchen drawer, and a beer out of her stash in the refrigerator, which she now kept on hand for him. Clad in boxer shorts and tee shirt, he took a swig of beer and jotted notes as he thought. SG-7 was on 448, so he would send SG-9 to 286. Conditions there were iffy, though, so SG-13 would go as backup. SG-5 was returning tomorrow, then SG-1 was shipping out to 723 the day after tomorrow. Simple recon, Carter wouldn't need backup.
He paused in his jottings, smiling a little. Carter had proved her mettle thoroughly on her first mission out, when Jack thought Ba'al had taken the team. Since then he'd had absolute confidence in her leadership ability.
Lowering his pen, he stared off into the middle distance, his smile fading. In other areas, things weren't so good with his favorite colonel. Since their conversation in the mess hall over a month ago, a noticeable stiffness had arisen between them. Gone were the comfortable banter, warmth, and harmless flirting that had spiced their interaction before. Gone were the crossword puzzle wagers, which he delighted in losing. At mission departures, returns, and briefings, they were careful not to look directly into each other's eyes. They never broached the subject of Elizabeth and himself again, and he never asked about Pete again.
They were just commanding officer and subordinate now.
Jack pressed his lips together tightly. He had tried to swallow the change stoically. After all, it was inevitable. As she moved deeper into her relationship with Pete, and he moved away in the opposite direction, this was bound to happen. Wasn't that the main reason he had pursued a personal life anyway?
He heard a rustle and looked up. Elizabeth was leaning against the arched entry of the living room.
"Don't you ever sleep?" she asked.
"Oh, now and then. Usually catch a catnap when Daniel is describing one of his archaeological finds."
She crossed the room and, sitting down beside him, looked at his scrawl on the notepad. "What are you doing?"
"Just mapping out the mission schedule." He laid the pad on the coffee table but held onto the pen, twirling it in his fingers. He looked at her pointedly. "I'm not trying to get away from you, you know. It's just the sleeping thing."
"I know. It's just that I don't get to see you much."
"Hasn't been that long, has it?"
"I haven't seen you for over a week."
"Damn. Time flies when you're having...work."
"Yeah." It came out as a sigh. Her robe had gapped, revealing her legs, and she adjusted it to cover them.
Looking down at her sleep-mussed hair, Jack's mouth quirked. She had worse bed-head than Carter. "I'm sorry," he said to cover all his wrongs.
She was quiet a moment, looking at her hands in the light that spilled in from the back-porch lamp. "Jack?"
Uh-oh. He knew that tone. Sara had used it whenever she wanted to "talk." He swallowed, and waited.
"It's not just the 'sleeping thing,'" she said. "It's...I...I need more."
"Oh." The room suddenly felt close and stuffy. He drummed the pen against his knee.
Elizabeth continued, "I don't even know where you grew up, if you have brothers or sisters, if your parents are still alive. You're a closed book, Jack. You're holding back. Why?"
He looked at her in the darkness. Her eyes were shining. God, he hoped she wasn't going to cry. "I don't know." But he knew he wasn't being completely honest. Sure, he had issues resulting from his divorce and from years of being alone. But that wasn't all. He knew he was holding a part of himself in reserve for that future conditional -- and it was hard to release it.
She leaned forward, her elbows on her knees, her brow furrowed in intensity. "I...I've fallen in love with you. I haven't been in love since I was twenty-two. I thought I was too jaded for it ever to happen again. You've surprised me, Jack."
He winced.
"Do you even care for me?" Her voice sounded small.
"Of course, I do!" He reached out and ran his hand over her hair, smoothing it down. "I like you very much. I just...you know...I'm crap at this stuff."
She finally looked at him then, and the sadness of her expression moved him. Taking hold of her shoulder he drew her to him. For a long time they said nothing.
"I know this is hard for you," she said at last, her voice muffled against his shoulder. "But I need to know if there's a chance for us. If there's a hope of something more in the future." Elizabeth pressed her palm against his chest. "Will you let me in here, Jack?" she whispered.
Jack felt the warmth of her hand through his tee shirt, and his heart beat a little harder as he tried to pick through the stew of feelings within him. His mind traveled back to Edora and the woman who had fallen in love with him there. He had not loved Laira, but with no other future open to him, he had determined to give what he could of himself to her. Maybe it was time for him to do the same thing now. Getting a life, he supposed, included taking things to the next logical step.
He tossed the pen on the table and put his hand over hers on his breastbone. "I'll try."
Elizabeth lifted her head and pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth. "Thank you." Then she unfolded herself and stood up. "We should get some sleep. Come back to bed?" She held out her hand.
The porch light through the window cast a halo around her form. She was lovely. She was smart. She was pleasant to be around. He could do much worse.
Ignoring the tightness in his chest, Jack took her hand and followed her to bed.
Part 4
The Ad'birils had proven as difficult as Jack suspected, and had been dispatched back to their planet to iron out their differences before resuming negotiations. SG-5 had returned from their mission without incident (if you didn't count a sprained ankle), and SG-1 had left for P3X-723, Daniel all a-flutter over some glyphs the MALP had revealed.
The next day two more teams returned and another departed. Elizabeth disappeared for a quick meeting at the Academy with the Air Force chief of staff, who had stopped off en route to points west. As Jack settled back to catch up on paperwork, he thought of his pledge to her. Could he do it? Could he give her what she wanted? It couldn't be that hard, he concluded. A little effort was all it needed. He wanted a life; he should be willing to work a bit for it.
He looked at his watch. SG-1 was due back in a half hour. There was time to grab a cup of coffee. Humming the Simpsons theme, he abandoned his desk and headed for the mess hall.
~~~~~~
The coffee had long since burned a hole in Jack's stomach. He paced the control room like a caged tiger, the muscles in his neck tense and aching. Stopping behind Sergeant Davis, he stared through the control room window at the silent gate, his fingers curling and uncurling along his thighs, his mouth set in a tight line. "How long overdue?" he barked.
"Three hours and--" Davis consulted the clock, "fifty-two minutes, sir."
Jack knew the man was itching to say, "Five minutes more since the last time you asked." Well, screw him -- and then he immediately repented of his silent asperity. The sergeant was only doing his job, and Jack wasn't helping any by breathing down the man's neck.
He resumed his pacing.
Weir had stepped quietly into the control room some time ago. Jack was peripherally aware of her at the rear of the room, watching him, but didn't acknowledge her presence. He had seen her whisper something to a technician, had heard the other woman's hushed reply: "SG-1 is late, ma'am," and saw Elizabeth blanch.
Suddenly he'd had enough of techs and computers and a silent gate. Turning on his heel, he took the stairs two at a time to the next floor and his office, where he dropped heavily into his chair. A few minutes later he watched Elizabeth cross the briefing room to his door.
"I heard the news," she said.
"Yeah." Jack motioned for her to enter.
She sat in one of the chairs across from his desk and leaned forward intently, her hands clasped together. "No response to your transmission?"
"No. We tried again a half hour ago. Nothing."
"This is hard for you."
"You have no idea." He turned his gaze through his office window. "I should be out there with them, watching their sixes, not sitting behind a damn desk."
"They're SGC's best team, Jack. They can handle themselves. Remember how well they handled the ambush a few months ago?"
"I know. But I never get used to it." Action was his long suit, not sitting still. Not feeling helpless. Useless. No one knew better than he did what could go wrong out there, and the knowledge sat like a burning coal in his gut. He might as well be sitting behind a desk in Washington for all the good he was doing here.
"Right," Weir said. They were silent again, he looking through the window, she looking at him. "Look, Jack, why don't we get some coff--"
The gate began to turn, and Davis's voice rose from the floor below: "Incoming wormhole!" Elizabeth began to rise, but Jack was already out of the office.
"It's SG-1's code, sir!" Davis said as the general barreled into the control room. Ordering the iris opened and a medical team summoned, Jack pounded down the steps to the gateroom. He felt Elizabeth stop next to him, her shoulder grazing his arm, just as chevron seven locked into place. He tried to quell the queasy feeling in his stomach, and composed his face into a mask.
The wormhole stabilized. He waited. And waited. His eyes grew strained staring at the shimmering surface in the gate.
Finally a form materialized in the watery event horizon. Large, odd-shaped. Then the large form resolved itself into Teal'c. The odd shape was something in his arms.
"Carter," Jack rasped.
He felt something break inside him. And felt his mask collapse for a second. In that second he sensed Weir glance up at him.
But a moment later the soldier's mask was back, as chaos ensued with medics erupting through the door behind them. Daniel stumbled through the event horizon, clutching a bloody arm to his chest. Gurneys clattered, orders were shouted, the wormhole disengaged, and the iris spiraled shut.
Jack moved aside as Carter was wheeled past him amidst a hive of medical personnel. Dr. Brightman herself was up on the gurney compressing the colonel's chest. Jack's breath stuck between his lungs and his throat. Daniel rolled past next.
Momentarily paralyzed by the glimpse he'd had of Carter's ravaged body, Jack didn't realize at first that Teal'c had stopped before him. Jack tried to focus his eyes on the Jaffa's face, but saw only the blood covering his uniform. Her blood.
"O'Neill."
Jack looked up. The big man's face was a study in controlled grief and guilt. Gripping the other man's shoulder Jack said, "Later, T. To the infirmary now." He was surprised at how calm his voice was. He felt like screaming. Teal'c lowered his head in acknowledgement, and followed the others.
Jack moved to do the same, but catching sight of Elizabeth, he paused. She was leaning against the wall, her palms pressed against it as though the sturdy steel was all that was supporting her. A pensive expression clouded her face, like it did when she was considering a new demand on the negotiating table.
She raised her eyes and looked at him intently. Jack wondered momentarily what she was thinking. Then she gave him a small, strained smile and waved her hand as if to say, Go, go! He dipped his head quickly and headed out of the gateroom.
He had to see Carter. If he lost her...
~~~~~~
Jack leaned his elbows on his knees and bowed his head. He felt weary beyond description. He had listened grimly to Teal'c's summary of SG-1's attack by Jaffa who weren't supposed to be there. As the other man described how Carter had drawn fire to protect an injured Daniel Jackson, Jack had nearly been overcome with pride. Ushering the big guy out of his office, he'd lowered his face to his hands and tried to drive the image of her bloodied body out of his mind.
Now Jack raised his head and studied Carter's still form in the infirmary bed. He'd had little opportunity to be with her since she'd been rushed out of the gateroom over two days ago and then immediately into surgery. General O'Neill did not have the luxury that Colonel O'Neill had had, of watching over his people in the infirmary. He had a base to run, other teams to oversee, and had to rely on updates from his aides as to Carter's status.
But at last he got a break and was now indulging his need to be by her side. She was still unconscious, her pale skin drawn tightly over the bones of her skull. Although the vest insert had saved her life from the staff blast, it hadn't saved her from other injuries or from the trauma that the body endures from one of those blasts. She wouldn't recover from this one quickly.
But at least she was alive.
Jack scrubbed his face roughly to stave off unwanted emotion climbing up his throat to the back of his eyes. He couldn't let the nursing staff see the general coming apart. Couldn't let them see...how much he cared.
So he sat up straight and composed his face carefully into a mask again.
Footsteps sounded behind him.
"Hi," Weir whispered as he turned around.
"Hi," he said in surprise. It occurred to him he had not seen her nor thought of her since he left her in the gateroom.
"I thought I'd find you here when you weren't in your office. How is she doing?"
"About the same. Stable."
Elizabeth moved closer to the bed and gazed down at the injured woman. "Has she regained consciousness yet?"
"No."
She turned and regarded him. "You look exhausted, Jack. She's getting the best care. Why don't you get some rest?"
"Someone needs to be here in case she wakes up. I made Teal'c get some rest."
He heard a sigh escape her lips. "Well," she said, "when you've had a chance to get some rest yourself, I've got some news to pass on from General Jumper."
"Important?"
"It can wait." She rested her hand on his shoulder. "She's going to be all right, Jack."
He nodded, and looked up at her. He tried to smile, but it probably resembled a grimace.
She squeezed his shoulder affectionately. "'Night."
With a grunt he turned back to the infirmary bed as the tapping of Weir's heels receded into the distance.
He must have dozed, because he started awake at a sound. A raspy breath and a hoarse word.
"Jack?"
Jack? His chest constricted, and he lurched out of his chair. "I'm here," he said softly, leaning over Carter.
"Sorry. I mean sir."
He shook his head. Damn the woman! "No sorrys," he said.
Her eyes blinked blearily, trying to focus. "Where...what?"
"You're in the infirmary. How are you feeling?"
She groaned. "Like...fell off...truck."
He took the cup of water from the tray and held the straw to her lips. "Taking on a regiment of Jaffa will do that to you."
She sipped greedily. "Don't remember."
"That's all right. You've got a bit of a concussion. You really have to stop doing that, you know?"
"Bad habit, huh?" Her eyes fluttered closed, then open again. "How long?"
"You've been out for forty-eight hours. I probably should get the doc."
"Daniel? Teal'c?"
His heart swelled with pride again. Her thoughts went immediately to her team. "Teal'c's fine. Danny got a little banged up."
"Bad?"
"Took a staff blast to the shoulder, and spent last night in that bed over there. Doc just released him to go home this morning."
She closed her eyes. "Sorry, sir."
"Hey, what did I say about sorrys?"
She ignored him. "Let you down. Team down."
"For crying out loud, Carter," he murmured. "Teal'c told me it was your actions that saved Daniel."
"I should never have--"
"Stop."
He said it softly but firmly, and her eyes widened. "You can't second-guess your command decisions all the time. Sometimes things go to hell and it's not your fault. The important thing is that your team came back." He paused. "And you're alive." Blue eyes, still somewhat unfocused, gazed up at him with affection. His fingers tapped the back of her hand, which lay limply on the blanket. "That's the important thing. Because, you know, there's cake waiting for you."
Her cracked lips turned upward. "Cake," she repeated, and turned her hand over so he was tapping her palm. Then her fingers curled up and feather stroked his, stopping his restless fidgeting.
Jack shifted slightly so their hands wouldn't be visible to anyone on the other side of the infirmary. He smiled down at her. "Chocolate cake," he said.
She continued to gaze into his eyes, much the same way she had looked at him in the engine room of the teltak on the way to Prokla-whatever. Before he went completely ancient and after he'd resigned. He'd thought then that she was going to kiss him. God knew he wanted to kiss her. Why the hell hadn't he? Would everything be different now if he had?
He felt himself falling into those blue depths. They seemed, impossibly, to mirror his own feelings. For an incandescent moment, while he tried to shush the bass drum of his heart, he believed. In possibilities, in chances, in the hope of a future conditional. He squeezed her fingers gently.
Carter smiled a groggy smile. Then she blinked, and her eyes widened. "Forty-eight hours?"
"Yeah."
"Pete," she whispered.
He felt her hand slip from his, and saw hope, possibilities, and futures crash on the sharp rocks of reality. He cleared his throat. "Pete?"
"Worried. He'll be worried." Carter glanced at him uncertainly. "Ask a...favor, sir?"
"Anything."
She hesitated, looking apologetic. "Could you...call him?" It was hard for her to get the words out. She closed her eyes in exhaustion.
"Sure."
"His number...in my--"
"I'll find his number."
"Tell him...will call him...soon as I can." She lapsed into silence then, and he wondered if she'd lost consciousness.
"I'll tell him," he whispered.
Her lashes fluttered against her cheek, and then her eyes were upon him again, dark and smudged. "Thank you." With a sigh she let her eyes drop shut again. This time sleep claimed her.
Jack stood for a moment, swallowing around a hard knot in his throat. Then he turned abruptly and left.
~~~~~~
The phone was picked up on the second ring, Shanahan's "Hello?" sounding anxious. Hell, Jack thought, he would be anxious too in his place. He introduced himself, and the other man interrupted.
"Oh, God! Is it about Sam? What's happened?"
"Colonel Carter--"
"Is she all right?"
For crying out loud, would the man let him get a word in? "Colonel Carter is okay," he said carefully. He explained that she had been injured and was in the infirmary. "But she's going to be all right. She's awake and conscious and she wanted me to let you know."
"Thank God. Is she hurt bad? Can I talk to her? Can I see her?"
Jack promised to arrange clearance for the detective, then said, "Right now she just needs rest, Mr. Shanahan. But she asked me to tell you she'll be calling you when she's more alert."
After several more minutes of listening to exclamations and issuing reassurances, Jack finally extricated himself from the phone. He scrubbed his fingers roughly through his hair, then rested his face in his hands. A sharp pain throbbed in his temple. He felt old, so very old.
Tomorrow Carter's lover would be by her bedside, and Jack would be back behind this desk. "Crap," he said.
"Uh, excuse me, sir?"
Jack's head jerked up to see Lieutenant Simmons standing in his doorway. Where had he come from, and how long had he been there? 'Preternaturally aware' my ass, he thought ruefully. Feelings were dulling his edge. "What?" he snapped.
The young man flinched slightly. "Just letting you know I'm going off shift, sir. Sergeant Davis will be taking over."
Jack nodded his acknowledgement. Shift changes, he mused. It was time for him to go off shift, too. Tomorrow the Denver detective would take over the vigil beside Carter.
It was time for Jack to move on to his own life.
"Lieutenant!" he called to the departing officer.
"Sir?"
Switching off his desk lamp he said, "Tell Davis I'm leaving the mountain."
No more foot-dragging, he told himself. Elizabeth wanted an answer. He would give it to her.
Part 5
Elizabeth greeted him in her robe, blinking sleepily.
"Sorry I woke you," Jack apologized. "I guess I lost track of time."
She shook her head. "Don't worry about it." Closing the door behind him, she pulled him down into a kiss. He barely responded, and she pulled away, looking at him worriedly. "What's up?" she asked.
"I -- well, it's a funny thing, actually. I was driving around and I drove by your house and I thought I'd stop by."
She peered at him dubiously.
Jack shrugged. "Needs some work, huh?"
"A little," she said with a small smile. She offered him something to drink, but he declined. Taking a seat on the sofa, she curled her legs under her, her posture stiff and tense. "So, the real reason you're here?"
Jack sat down at the other end of the couch, his hands restlessly moving in his lap. "The other day you asked me for more. For a commitment." He sensed her becoming absolutely still. "I really have been driving around, thinking about this," he explained.
He had taken the hairpin turns on the access road down from the mountain like a man on a mission, determined to put one life behind him and take up another. From highway 115 he exited at East Cheyenne Mountain Boulevard and headed for Elizabeth's house. But just before he reached it he took a turn, and after meandering through the dark and silent neighborhoods, found himself parked at Quail Lake.
He'd sat in his truck for a long time, staring out over the manmade lake set right in the middle of the suburbs. At the other end of the parking lot a couple was necking in a car, but he paid them no attention. Folding his hands on the steering wheel, he rested his chin on them and gazed at the water shimmering silver in the night. He remembered taking Charlie fishing here. The lake was stocked, and patience was sometimes rewarded with a trout at the end of the line. The memory produced a familiar ache in his chest. Other memories chased it away, followed by more images, more aches, until finally there was just the lake and a calm certainty.
"And?" Elizabeth prodded him.
He took a deep breath. "You also asked about my son."
She looked at him in surprise. This was obviously not what she was expecting. She shifted slightly, her eyes rapt on him.
Jack continued, "I want to tell you something about him." He looked down at his lap. "He was the best thing that ever happened to me. I loved him more than I've ever loved anyone." His throat felt thick, and he gave a little cough. "And I loved his mother. Even though it all went to hell, I remember how it felt to love them." And he knew how it felt to love someone now.
He looked at the woman at the other end of the sofa. "I came over to tell you yes. That I'm ready to give more." He could see the light of hope in Elizabeth's eyes and clenched his fist on his thigh. "But," he went on gently, and watched the light in her eyes die at that single word, "on the way here I realized I couldn't do that."
"Why?" It came out strangled.
"The way I felt with Sara and Charlie--" and, he added silently, with Carter -- "I don't feel like that with you, Elizabeth, and I don't think I ever will."
Sitting in his truck by the sleeping lake, his last image had been of Carter lying pale and still in the infirmary bed. His last memory, of how it had felt to almost lose her -- the sheer, crushing weight of emotion. Emotion that he didn't feel toward this woman next to him, emotion that couldn't be willed or produced. He thought of how easily Elizabeth slipped from his mind when he was apart from her. And how Carter filled it.
Elizabeth sat immobilized, but her breathing was labored. Jack hated himself for hurting her. She didn't deserve this. But he couldn't offer her half a life either.
The silence spun out for long moments as her eyes remained locked on his. "Maybe in time...?" she whispered.
He expelled a breath. "I don't think so."
"No, of course not."
She bowed her head, and Jack felt a sadness press him down. Sliding closer to her, he took her hand. "I'm sorry."
She looked down at her hand in his. "You have feelings for someone else."
He froze. "What makes you say that?"
She raised sad eyes to him, sighing a little. "I'm good at what I do for a reason, Jack. I can read people, read between the lines. And I've noticed things."
"Oh?"
"The other day, when Teal'c came through the gate carrying Colonel Carter, I saw something in your face. Something I'd never seen before." Jack winced, and she went on, "And tonight, when you were in the infirmary. And one time I had lunch in the commissary with the colonel, who seemed disconcerted that I'd been to a hockey game."
Jack looked down at his hands.
"I can do the math, Jack."
He looked at her sharply. "It's not what you think."
She smiled a sad smile, squeezing his hand. "I only think the best of you. Of both of you. I just wish...I wish you felt that way about me."
He was somber. "I'm sorry," he said again.
"But even if you don't," she pleaded, "we could still have a life together. Because you can't have one with..." She trailed off.
He had thought about that, too. He liked this woman, they were pretty good together. He knew that with her he could have a comfortable life. A decent life.
But not a real life.
No, he would live out his years alone. It was at least an honest life.
"I can't do that," Jack said quietly. "And I can't do that to you."
Elizabeth nodded. "No, of course you can't. You wouldn't be Jack O'Neill if you did."
They lapsed into silence then, the clock in the kitchen ticking loudly. There seemed nothing more to say, so Jack leaned over and placed a soft kiss on her cheek. "I better go."
She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and held him to her for a long moment, and he felt her tears wet his cheek. Then she released him, and he let himself out.
He was halfway home before he remembered that she was going to tell him some news from the Air Force chief of staff.
Epilogue
Jack picked up a stone, and holding it carefully between thumb and forefinger, flung it across the surface of the lake. It took two bounces and sank. "Damn!"
"Lost your touch, sir?"
He turned to look at Carter, who was sitting on a bench a few yards from the shore. "It's just that my hand is cramped from signing all those parchments. Why did they need forty-one scrolls? And why did they need *me* for this treaty-signing hoopla?"
Carter slipped off her uniform jacket, folded it, and laid it atop his on the bench. "According to Daniel, forty-one is a sacred number in the Kiramos belief system."
He snorted and, turning his back to her, bent to look for another rock.
"As for why you, sir," she went on. "You're our high mucky-muck, our Big Kahuna."
He could hear the smile in her voice, and felt one of his own threatening to undo his grouchy mood. Since Carter had returned from medical leave a couple of weeks ago, their comfortable camaraderie had mysteriously reappeared. She was once again bamboozling him with her technobabble, astounding him with her brilliance, and challenging him to crossword puzzles. Jack didn't know if it was because of the changes at the SGC, or if Carter was blissfully happy with Pete, or if it was something else. He didn't know and didn't care. All that mattered was that it was good.
"Whatever," he said, and gave the rock a baseball throw across the water, where it sank with a satisfying plop.
This treaty signing was Carter's first gig since she'd been cleared for active duty. And Jack had the pleasure of accompanying her and the rest of SG-1 on his first off world mission since his promotion.
Although pleasure didn't head his list at the moment.
He tugged his tie loose. "And what have they got against air conditioning?" he went on. "They're technically advanced enough, aren't they?" His uniform had turned into a sopping mess in the treaty-signing hall, and now his white shirt stuck to his back and sported large half circles under his armpits. Even Carter's crisp shirt, he'd noticed, was looking distinctly limp.
"Something about not interfering with the sun goddess's blessings on her people," she explained.
"Some blessing," he muttered.
"Sir, why don't you sit down? It's cooler over here in the shade."
He humphed but took her advice, dropping tiredly onto the ornately carved bench. They had retreated to the palace grounds after their official duties had been completed, and only awaited Daniel's translation of some documents. Citing a wish to observe a demonstration of the Kiramos' best warriors, Teal'c had left the general and the colonel to their own devices.
Carter crossed one leg over the other, causing her skirt to ride up a little. Jack's eyes rested for a moment on the expanse of thigh that was revealed. Then he forced his gaze away from her legs. "So," he said, "how're you doing with that crossword puzzle?"
"I think I got it solved. How about you?"
"A cinch. Child's play. Piece of cake."
"Still working on it, huh?"
"Yes, well..."
She giggled, and a grin tugged at his lips. Clasping his hands behind his head, he stretched stiff shoulders. "Sometimes I wish I had gone with the gang to the Pegasus galaxy. Anything to get away from this diplomatic stuff."
Carter didn't have a riposte for that, but instead became very still. Finally she asked softly, "Do you miss her?"
He looked at her in surprise. "Who? Weir?" Carter nodded. "A little," he answered.
That had been the news Elizabeth had neglected to tell him that night: She'd been tapped to lead the expedition to find Atlantis. If Jack had said yes to her then instead of no, she wouldn't have accepted the job. He felt a pang of guilt that he had been instrumental in her decision to flee to another galaxy, with no guarantee of return. But she had embraced it like a gift. And now he ran the SGC on his own.
"Only a little?" Carter asked in surprise.
"Well, we sort of broke up before she left." Jack picked up a leaf that had fallen on the bench. Twirling it by its stem, he explained, "Actually, I broke it off before I even knew about the Atlantis thing."
Carter was staring at him. Her mouth worked a little before she got the word out. "Why?"
The question disconcerted him with its personal nature. Carter didn't usually do personal with him. He cleared his throat uncomfortably and looked away from her. "I didn't feel...feelings."
He felt her eyes on him. Did she understand? Did she remember how, when all had been stripped from them, even knowledge of who they were, their feelings had been indestructible?
But, he reminded himself, she had since given those feelings to someone else.
And he had come to terms with it rather well, he thought. After things had ended with Elizabeth, he'd discovered a new contentment in his solitary life. He had the SGC. He had his home, where he'd found new pleasure in puttering when time allowed. He had himself.
And he had Carter.
He'd accustomed himself to another man having her after hours. But the rest of the time -- five days a week, some nights, and even some weekends, workaholic that she was -- Jack had her.
Jack said, "I decided I'd rather be alone than live like that."
Carter looked down at her lap. "I had no idea it was over."
"I guess I should have mentioned it."
She chuffed lightly. "It's a funny thing. I have news too."
Jack felt his skin prickle, and the sweat on his back turned clammy. Trying to keep his expression neutral he said, "Oh? What?"
Carter didn't answer immediately, but watched a bird-like creature land on the shore and begin to poke the soil with its beak. Folding her hands on her navy skirt she said, "Pete asked me to marry him."
Jack expelled a breath. Crap. He knew it would come to this eventually. He'd tried to prepare himself, had rehearsed what he'd say when she told him. Now he would find out if the cliché was true. Did practice really make perfect? Clamping down the ache that rose in his chest, he said, "Well, Carter, I'm--"
"I said no."
"--happy for...WHAT?" He sat up straight.
"I said no," she repeated, and turned to look at him. "I broke it off."
His breathing stopped, and the hand twirling the leaf stilled. She broke up with Pete, he repeated to himself. He wanted to say he was sorry, but the words wouldn't come. A stillness seemed to enclose them, the trees, and the lake. The only motion was the bird, poking and jabbing.
"You mean," he said, struggling as if it were a problem in differential equations, "you're not seeing him anymore?"
Her mouth quirked up at his difficulty. "Yes, that's what I mean."
Jack gawked at her stupidly, his jaw hanging open. "Why?" he rasped.
She looked out over the lake. "When he asked me to marry him...when I imagined the whole rest of my life with him, it hit me."
She paused, and Jack said, "What hit you?"
Taking a breath, she turned to look at him. "I finally realized that I cared about him...a lot less than I was supposed to."
Her eyes were gigantic, sapphire jewels swimming in a white sea. Suddenly he was aware of every inch of her next to him, from shoulder to hip to thigh, heat radiating across the gap between them as if her body was pressed tightly against his.
Then his lungs filled, and he felt gravity drop away. He felt like he could fly.
Jumping up off the bench, he crossed to the lakeshore, startling the bird and sending it squawking and fluttering up into the tree above them. He found a smooth, round, flat stone and tossed it in his hand, while his brain galloped to make sense. He could barely grasp this. His heart thrummed.
He stood, and with a sharp flick of his arm, sent the rock across the water...four, five, six, seven. "Yes!"
"Nice form, sir." Carter's voice surprised him close behind his shoulder. She was searching for a rock, too, and finding one, whipped it parallel to the lake. "I'm rusty," she said with a smile as the rock disappeared after three skips.
She looked up at him, her face open and yearning, and his heart went crazy. "I taught Charlie how to skip rocks at our lake in Minnesota," he said.
Carter's eyes widened a little in surprise. He knew what she was thinking: he never talked about Charlie. "He must have been little," she said.
"Yeah, but he had a good arm. He picked it up fast. Like he picked up baseball." A breeze blew off the water, ruffling her hair. Her eyes didn't leave his face. His throat tightened. "I'd like to tell you about him sometime," he said quietly.
She swallowed, and her eyes became bright with moisture. "I'd like to hear about him," she whispered.
They were immobilized for a long moment, lost in each other's eyes.
Later he wouldn't be able to remember who moved first. But suddenly she was pressed against him, her arms encircling his waist, her head against his shoulder. Jack crushed her to him, burying his face in the place where her neck and shoulder met. She smelled of perspiration, deodorant, and fruity-scented shampoo, and he couldn't breathe deeply enough of it. Her breasts heaved against his chest, and she was trembling. "Sam," he whispered. In response she clutched him more tightly, her fingernails sharp through his shirt. She was murmuring something into his shoulder, and it took him a moment to make it out.
"It was you, it was always you," she half-sobbed, and pressed her lips against his neck.
His knees wavered. His arms clamped around her like a vise. He wanted so much to kiss her, but they were already treading on dangerous ground. Maybe just a little one...
He pulled back from her slightly and looked into her watery eyes. Then he brought his mouth to hers. It tasted salty where her tears had run down. "A promise of more to come," he murmured against her lips.
She blinked wet lashes at him. "To come?" she said, breathless. "But how? We can't..."
"The president still would prefer a civilian face on the SGC." He let it hang while she processed it. Which she did in about two milliseconds.
"Oh," she gasped, and wrapping her arms around his neck, she drew him back to her, rubbing her cheek against his. "Are you sure you want to do that?"
"Never been more sure," he breathed into her hair. "But it might take me a while to find someone I'd trust to command you flyboys and girls." He gulped in a lungful of air. "Sam?"
"What?"
"Would you willing to wait for an old man?"
Sam stilled in his arms, while his heart fought against his ribs. Moving so that she could look into his eyes, she said, "I won't wait for an old man."
His breath caught, and he closed his eyes. Of course not. It would be too much to ask of a young woman with her life ahead of her.
A soft pressure on his lips made him open his eyes. There was that supernova smile again. She placed her hands on both sides of his face. "But I'll wait for you, Jack."
And then she was in his arms again, and he was holding her, holding Sam Carter, holding his life, holding his future. Not future conditional any longer.
Future perfect.
The End
Story Notes: Author's Notes: I was quite taken with Dr. Weir in "The Lost City." As played by Jessica Steen, the character's interaction with Jack had interesting potential. I decided to explore that potential in this story. I began this story before season 8 aired, so Weir is blonde, not the dark-haired version of Atlantis. Because I continued writing through the first batch of season 8 episodes, some elements from the actual season 8 are included, such as ranks, the search for the lost city, and a small reference to "Zero Hour." But they're quite small, really, and hardly spoilerish if you haven't seen season 8.
My thanks to TZ for the beta, and to Emma for her suggestion and unflagging encouragement.
My thanks to TZ for the beta, and to Emma for her suggestion and unflagging encouragement.
DISCLAIMER: All publicly recognisable characters, settings, etc, are the property of their respective owners. Any original characters and plots are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended. ... [ read more ]